


self-restraint

by spidersona



Series: keith, pidge, and the mysteries of courting [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Keith (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Fingerfucking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Omega Pidge | Katie Holt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 02:17:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17173961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidersona/pseuds/spidersona
Summary: The doors open to reveal Keith, who smiles sympathetically at her. All she can really do is feel grateful for the fact that her room doesn’t reek of sex when he comes in. She’s sure that she looks like a mess, with her hair tangled and her skin sweaty, but at least she’s kept her composure. “Hey, Pidge,” he says, voice softer than she’s perhaps ever heard it. “What do you want me to do?”





	self-restraint

**Author's Note:**

> the dubcon rating is bc of the entire concept of heat sex - but i hate the whole noncon vibe that abo dynamics frequently give off, so you'll probably see that this is done a little differently than most heat fics! not better or worse (hopefully), just different
> 
> i write for kidge/plance a lot but wanted an account to post my porn so here we are lmao

Pidge’s head hurts.

 

The pain is intense enough to make her hiss, a sleep-twitchy hand going to press her fingers against her forehead. She winces in surprise at how hot her forehead is, like those times in middle school where she would press a hot rag against her face to trick her mom into letting her stay home.

 

Maybe it’s the sleep, or maybe it’s the way that her mind is working at 50%, but it takes her longer than it should to come to the obvious conclusion. Her brain scrambles to think about what she could have encountered that would give her a fever, what she’s eaten lately, until - oh.

 

Fuck.

 

Her skin is sticky against her pajamas, so she raggedly moves to slide them off. She could probably take off the sports bra and boxer shorts that are left behind, but the mere action of moving her arms _aches_ with something fierce, so she decides that it’s not worth it. The fact that her thighs shine when she pushes them apart is further confirmation of what she already knows: she’s in heat.

 

The groan that she lets out is half from the pain and half from the annoyance of this all occurring to her. She’d known that her heat was coming, since her whole cycle had pretty much restarted after her suppressants ran out, but the specifics are always finicky. She would have expected another week or so before it started, but, well, here she is.

 

The others can probably smell her from the other parts of the castle - the way that she could smell Shiro when he went into a rut last month. At least that will save her an awkward conversation. Hopefully, if someone comes to check on her, it’s one of the Alteans, who don’t have a dynamic the way that humans do. Their smells are practically nonexistent, so Pidge assumes that would be the easiest to bear.

 

They’ve only really had one long discussion about all of their dynamics, back once this had all begun. The Alteans lacked the scent glands and secondary sex characteristics that humans did, so it had been an educational discussion. They’d gone over specific traits about each of the orientations, and, embarrassingly enough, when the word Omega had come up, everybody had looked at Pidge. _Guess that suppressants can only do so much,_ she’d thought, cheeks cherry red.

 

Looking back, she’s grateful that all of her teammates had let her lead the discussion, all of them being Alphas themselves. (Which she’d originally _hated,_ being the only Omega trapped with all of them, but the only time that it truly rears its ugly head is when Keith and Lance argue for hours on end.) So she’d briefed Allura on all of that: on the stigma, on different scents, on heats.

 

“So are these _heats_ something you’ll need help with, once, uh, the situation arises?” Allura had asked, stumbling over the words. From what Pidge has heard, Alteans are quite conservative about sex, so meeting humans must be a trip for them.

 

“Er, no, I’m fine,” Pidge had said, overly conscious of the fact that everybody had been staring at her. “Having someone else there can make the whole process quicker, especially if it’s an intimate partner, but, uh, I’d really just rather deal with it alone.”

 

She really had just planned on dealing with it alone, back then. Back when all she had known about her teammates was that they were Alphas and _strong._ Those weren’t really a combination that she had wanted anything to do with, in regard to her heats.

 

But then, she’d learned more about all of them. She’d learned about how Shiro had a mate from back home, who he always talked about with soft smiles and even gentler words. She’d learned about how the one time that Hunk had ever gotten in trouble at school was due to fighting with an Alpha who was scaring somebody else. She’d learned about how Lance once tied himself to a tree at an equal rights rally with “omega rights are human rights” painted on his chest.

 

And, most of all, she’d learned about Keith.

 

Keith, who never touches her unless she touches him first. Keith, who never treated her any differently, no matter how many rants she goes on about shitty Alphas back home. There’s something there, between them, so tangible and tense that she can practically taste it whenever they’re in the same room, but neither of them have spoken about it yet. Lance and Hunk always tease her when he’s not around, like, _can you just kiss him already and spare us all of the eyefucking? Please?_

 

Pidge is not a traditional Omega by any means, but she _had_ been basically waiting around for Keith to make a move. She knows that he feels _something,_ since his actions have always spoken louder than his words. He’s the one that she cuddles with on movie nights, and she’s the one that he always checks in on first after a particularly brutal mission.

 

She’s never changed her mind about something so completely as she has about spending her heats with somebody. She’d tried to ask him about it last week, but the alarms had gone off right after she’d said, “uh, you remember that thing I said, way back, about spending my heats alone?” He hadn’t even gotten a chance to respond before Allura’s voice had come on over the intercom, demanding everybody’s presence in the control room.

 

God, does she wish that she’d had the chance to finish that conversation. She’s pretty sure that he would have said yes, if she’d gotten around to asking. It’s not even that she wants him to fuck her or anything, (though, granted, she _does_ want that, very much, but not in this context) but she just doesn’t want to be alone. Matt used to give her stomach rubs to make her feel better, and his mere presence had lessened so much of the crying.

 

If Keith were here, she doesn’t think that she’d initiate anything sexual - sure, she can feel something hot curling in her gut, unpleasant in its intensity, but that’s drowned out by how much it hurts just to be _existing._ Her arms ache when she moves them, and her cramps and headaches are consistent in their severity. So, no, if Keith were here, all she’d really do is wrap her arms around him, or maybe ask him to play with her hair. Or both. Both sounds good.

 

 _Deep breaths,_ she thinks, inhaling slowly through her mouth. If experience prevails, she won’t sleep at all for the next few days, and breathing deep is the only thing that can give her a small distraction from the pain. _Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in-_

 

Keith’s scent hits her like a train, but she barely has enough time to be surprised before there’s a knock on the door. “Katie?” his voice comes through, and she wonders if she’s imagining the fact that his voice seems lower than usual. She can see his shadow underneath the door, can hear the _thunk_ of his body pressing against it. “Hey, look - I’ll totally fuck off if you tell me to, but, uh… I’m pretty sure last week, you were gonna ask me to help out? I want to help, if you’ll have me.”

 

Her head feels fuzzy at the thought of him being so considerate, so ready to take no for an answer. Her mouth is dry when she opens it, so she has to swallow first, but then she croaks, “door code’s six-two-eight-eight.” The last word comes with gritted teeth and her hand curling into a fist. God, it _hurts._

 

Four beeps emit shortly after, loud in the silence. The doors open to reveal Keith, who smiles sympathetically at her. All she can really do is feel grateful for the fact that her room doesn’t reek of sex when he comes in. She’s sure that she looks like a mess, with her hair tangled and her skin sweaty, but at least she’s kept her composure. “Hey, Pidge,” he says, voice softer than she’s perhaps ever heard it. “What do you want me to do?”

 

She contemplates that for a second, before scooting closer to the wall. “Get your cute ass over here and let’s cuddle,” she says, patting the now-empty space on her bed. He snorts and makes his way over to her, and wow, okay, Pidge _totally_ should have seen this whole heat thing coming when she cleaned her room yesterday. She _never_ cleans her room, but at least it comes in handy now, with Keith not having to dodge various projects and robot parts on his way over to her.

 

She’s putting her head on his chest before he’s even fully settled on the sheets, and _oh thank God,_ his fingers immediately start to card through her hair. It feels like magic, and she hums a little victory tune at the fact that he’s _here,_ in her bed, and she doesn’t have to deal with this all alone. She presses her nose into his shirt and sniffs. He’s always smelled so good, like a bonfire. It should be illegal, having a scent that pleasant. The smell itself is comforting, a pretty distraction from the pain that consumes her. Don’t get her wrong, it still _hurts_ like a bitch, but she’s grateful for a better distraction than deep breaths.

 

“Everyone knows by now, right?” she asks, the words slightly muffled by his chest.

 

“Yeah,” he says, just as quiet, as if they’re sharing secrets. “No one’s being weird or anything.”

 

“I wasn’t really worried about that,” she replies, even though she had been, kind of, in an irrational sort of way. It’s a situation that none of them have dealt with yet, so she hadn’t really had any way to know how they’d react. “Just wondering if I gotta have another awkward conversation.”

 

“I told them to give you your space for now,” Keith tells her. Her ear is right next to his heart, and she can feel it beating - slow and steady. The mere rhythm of it is a tranquilizer in its own way, though she’s not certain why.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No problem,” he says, and then there’s a pause. The only sound in the air is both of their breathing patterns - Pidge’s quick and shallow, Keith’s normal and even. She tries to mimic his, but it doesn’t really do much to help her pain, so she gives up. Who needs deep breaths as a shitty distraction when she has an actual _Alpha_ right here, cuddling with her? “Not to be a dick, but you’re actually a lot more like yourself than I expected. I’ve never really been near an Omega in heat before.”

 

“Well, I’m obviously the coolest bitch ever, so that explains that,” she teases, though her tone doesn’t really get as lighthearted as she aims for it to be. It’s more soft than anything, as if she’s unconsciously afraid that being too loud or excited will break her composure.

 

“Of course,” he agrees, just as gentle. She likes hearing his voice like this, and wonders if it’s because she’s in heat or because it’s just the two of them in an intimate setting. Maybe some combination of both.

 

Pidge isn’t sure when she falls asleep, but the second time that she wakes up that morning, it’s a much slower process. Her eyes blink open and close again a few different times as she regains consciousness, and she yawns, long and silent, as she fully wakes up. It takes her a moment to realize _why_ she’s coming to so slowly, and then it hits her: her headache is almost completely gone, with just the small pulses of an ache lingering behind. Her body still burns, but not as intensely. _Holy shit,_ she thinks, more than a little delirious, _is Keith a drug?_

 

She moves her head to look up at him, and is greeted with the sight of him sleeping. _Cute._ She smiles when she sees him, and a flood of warmth fills her body from head to toe. Where the pain has ebbed, there’s a whole new rush of something completely different, something _hotter._ That must be the downside of spending a heat with somebody else, but somehow, it doesn’t seem all that bad.

 

Pidge crawls up so that they’re eye-to-eye, and without really thinking about it, presses her face into Keith’s neck. She hums at his scent, and then moves to nudge his jaw with her nose, trying to wake him up in a way that won’t be completely horrible. “Keith,” she whispers, or maybe just thinks, she’s not completely sure.

 

It doesn’t take long for him to wake up, and when he does, his hand immediately reaches up to brush her hair out of her eyes. “Mornin’,” he murmurs, even though it had been morning when he’d first come in, and was probably more like afternoon, now. That’s just a guess - she has no sure way of knowing how long they’d been sleeping. “How are you feeling?”

 

Pidge doesn’t answer as she leans back, kneeling on the mattress next to him. After a moment, she finally says, “I’m okay. You?”

 

Keith’s lips quirk up, as if he finds it cute that she’s asking about him. “I’m good,” he says, scooting into a sitting position. “Need anything?”

 

Pidge opens her mouth and then closes it, unsure of how to answer. How does she tell him that what she _needs_ is to come once or twice or ten times, when that might not even be what he’d signed up for? She hums instead of giving him a complete answer, and she’s crawling into his lap before she can ask if it’s okay. He swallows, low and thick, and she wonders if it’s just a coincidence or if it’s because of how wet her shorts are.

 

“I think you should finger me,” she blurts, and then immediately blushes. She wonders if the redness is even noticeable, or if it just blends in with the flush from her heat. “Only if you want to, though.”

 

Keith’s eyes widen almost comically, as if that’s the last thing he’d been expecting her to say. After a beat, he says, “are you sure?” His voice is a _lot_ deeper than usual, though, so she hopes that means that he’s at least considering the idea.

 

“Yeah,” she confirms. “I can do it myself, if you don’t want to, but I just think the pain will ease up for longer if you do it.”

 

Perhaps he’s swayed by the fact that she seems to still be thinking rationally, (a gift that Katie has never really _had_ before. She’s never been able to say anything but _ow_ during one of her heats) because he nods jerkily. “What position do you want me in?”

 

She shrugs at that; it doesn’t really matter. “Here’s fine.”

 

He exhales, shaky, and nods again. “Move up a little for me,” he whispers, and positions her so that her knees are on either sides of his thighs and she’s hovering a little over his lap, giving him enough room to work with. His left hand comes to grip her shoulder as his right tugs at the waistband of her boxers, the movements slow and methodical. She jolts when his fingers come into contact with her skin underneath her shorts, her high body temperature making his seem cold. The pad of one of his fingers traces her clit and she jumps at the sensation, her hands reaching forward to curl into his hair, her right cheek touching his. He works her open with one, slower than he probably needs to be, considering the fact that she’s been soaked for hours.

 

He adds another before she can even ask him to, slowly scissoring them so that he can stretch her out. It feels _good,_ in a way that it never really has when she’d done it herself, but maybe that’s just the heat talking. She gasps into his ear when he thumbs at her clit in quick, short circles, the touch making her hips jerk.

 

It doesn’t take much for her to come, and it’s earth-shattering in a way that her solo ones aren’t. She rocks back against his hand as he fingerfucks her through it, making embarrassing sounds throughout it all. The way that he responds against her, with “ _there you go, that’s it_ ”s and a quickening pace, shows that he probably doesn’t see what there is to be embarrassed about.

 

As great as the orgasm is, it does little to calm the fire in her gut, so, voice wavering, she asks, “can you keep going?”

 

“‘Course,” he says, and if she lets out a noise at how gravelly his voice sounds, well, he doesn’t call her out on it. “Tell me if you need a break, alright?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

Just like he’d promised, he doesn’t let up after that. She can feel the knuckle of his ring finger repeatedly press against the curve of her inner thigh as his other fingers drill her. The noise that is emitting through the air is absolutely _obscene,_ wet and loud and something Pidge should probably be embarrassed about, but she doesn’t know how to be. He’ll probably have to scrub his hands raw to get the smell of sex out once they’re done here, and the thought fills her with a weird sort of possessiveness. The fact that both she and Keith will soon exist outside of this room is something she doesn’t want to linger on for long. For now, he’s _hers._

 

The sounds that come out of her mouth vary, but they all have the same characteristic of being unfiltered, her brain not even processing them until they’re already out of her mouth. “Oh, God, _Keith_ , Keith, y-yeah, _please_ , fuck, _Keith_ -”

 

It takes Pidge a bit too long to realize that he’s rambling, too, even though his mouth is close enough to her ear that she should have been able to hear it from the get-go. “You’re so pretty like this, so good for me, you gonna come again, baby girl? C’mon, come for me.”

 

His fingers, longer than hers and angled differently than her many attempts, hit some part of her that she’s never been able to reach. She bucks into his hand, unprepared for this new sensation, and keeps moving her hips when the feeling only intensifies, as though something is building inside of her that she cannot quite identify. His fingers rutting into that spot combined with his thumb ceaselessly rubbing circles into her clit makes Katie realize why people care so much about sex. She can feel herself squeeze around him, almost like an unconscious warning, before she lets out a _moan,_ loud enough that all of the others can probably hear it, no matter where they are on the ship.

 

She’s not quiet in the build-up, and she’s _definitely_ not quiet when she actually comes. She tries to say Keith’s name but it ends up being more like a whimper, one that she repeats like a prayer. His hand fucks into her relentlessly throughout it all, words of quiet encouragement whispered into the crook of her neck.

 

“I think that I’m good,” she says, more faint than anything, and his movements cease. She pulls her face away from his to see what he looks like, and, wow, this totally would have been orgasm-worthy if she hadn’t just gotten finished with one. His eyes are dilated, his skin flushed, and he’s _looking_ at her as though she’s some ethereal being that he has the honor of meeting. For a minute or so, they just stay there, breathing in each other’s air and feeling her contract around his fingers. Once the contractions subside, he pulls his hand out of her and out of her boxers, wiping his fingers off on the fabric. She slumps down so that she’s actually sitting in his lap instead of hovering, the way that she had been before he’d repositioned her. Her hands make their way out of his hair, and she winces, realizing how hard she must have been tugging.

 

She wants to kiss him. She wants to kiss him open-mouthed and messy, wants to tug on his bottom lip with her teeth. She wants to wrap her legs around his waist as she does it, wants to press her body against his and tell him that he can do anything, _anything_ that he wants to her -

 

She doesn’t do any of those things.

 

“Thank you,” Pidge says, before the silence can turn from comfortable to awkward, and it feels kind of weird to say, but she really is grateful. Before, all of her senses had been in overdrive - too much and too hard, and it had been overwhelming to the point of painful. Keith has helped her with both the physical agony and the sexual pain in the short time that he’s been here, and she’s truly thankful for it.

 

“No problem,” he croaks, not for the first time that day, and she giggles at the sound. There’s a new aspect to his scent now, musky and thick, but she can’t pinpoint what it is. Pidge presses her lips against his temple, quick and sweet, before pushing off of the headboard behind him and falling back so that she’s sprawled against her sheets again. She’s laying down on the bed the wrong way, with her head ending up next to his calves. She feels even hotter than she had before Keith had offered his assistance, but the heat is less painful now.

 

Pidge half-expects him to ask her to return the favor, or to excuse himself so that he can take care of it on his own, but he does neither. She chooses to take that as an example of his gentlemanly nature and not as the possibility of him not being affected by her.

 

They’re quiet for a little bit, Pidge coming down from her spiraling high as Keith rubs soothing circles into her knee, it being the closest part of her body that he can reach. She contemplates saying something stupid just to break the silence, but her stomach ends up doing the honors for her, growling loudly enough that she would probably be embarrassed under normal circumstances. Instead, she just rolls over to her side to get a better look at him and says, “hey, humble servant, wanna grab me some food before I nap?”

 

Keith snorts. “Is this what your heats are? You just sleeping?” He doesn’t outright agree to her demand, but he pats her knee and moves to get off of the bed, which is definitely a good sign.

 

“Be quick,” she tells him, shifting back onto her back and staring at the ceiling. “Your services as a cuddle buddy are required.”

 

“Back in a flash,” he says, and she hears his footsteps as he leaves the room. Pidge lets out a shaky sigh once she hears the door close, bringing her hand up to wipe her forehead.

 

Had that really just happened? Had she really crawled into Keith’s lap and outright suggested that he finger her? Had he really _done_ it? The whole event had been such a whirlwind that it’s had to grasp onto any specific memory, even though pleasure still hums in her veins at how the cards had unfolded.

 

She lets her hands wander, pressing the tips of her fingers against the crotch of her boxer shorts, feeling how wet the fabric is. She traces her fingers back up to the waistband and then slips her hand back underneath, slowly pushing her pointer finger inside. Usually when she fingers herself, she’s tight enough where she has to spend a long time stretching, but now she feels as though she’s still gaping open. Her touch is not so much for sexual purposes as much as it is for calming her curiosity. She’s never had somebody else touch her like that before, and, _God,_ she had never thought that it would be Keith.

 

Holy shit. A laugh breaks past her lips, even though there’s nobody to hear it. Keith had been _inside_ of her. He’d whispered pretty words into her ear and fingerfucked her into next week. It feels like something that would be the subject of one of her sex dreams, but it’s _real._

 

They’re definitely going to have that talk about feelings after this, probably to the relief of everybody else on the ship. It seems inevitable at this point, but all she can do is hope that it goes well - hope that he wants her as sincerely as she wants him.

 

She takes her hand out of her shorts and shifts so that she’s sitting up, waiting patiently for Keith to come back. She’s starting to _itch_ at being away from him, bizarrely enough, and if she were less coherent, she’d go out and hunt his firm ass down. But she’s sensible enough to see how that would be a bad idea - if she even _saw_ one of the other Alphas, she’d probably freak the fuck out. All of this is too new and too scary.

 

Pidge can hear Keith coming back before he’s even halfway down the hall. His footsteps are loud in a way that they usually aren’t, maybe to announce his arrival to her. The beeping that echoes through the room tells her that he gets the door code wrong once. She smiles, fond, and he gets it right on the second try before she can tell him what it is.

 

He shakes a few plastic bags of snacks at her before placing them on the nightside table. Pidge stretches out her neck, baring it to him as she gives him a sleepy smile. He freezes in his tracks, eyes glued to her scent glands, before he continues his actions and lowers his gaze. She doesn’t even have to invite him up this time, he just climbs in and sits next to her, offering her a rough “doin’ alright?” and pressing the back of his head to the wall behind them.

 

Pidge hums, leaning over to nuzzle into his shoulder. She can feel him tense underneath her for a second, but when he unclenches, he’s even more relaxed than he had been to start with. “I’m okay. I didn’t even know that heats could _be_ like this.”

 

“What do you mean?” He shifts them around so that instead of leaning on his shoulder, his arm is wrapped around her. It’s more comfortable, so she snuggles into it immediately.

 

“I mean, like, usually I’m not this… rational,” Pidge admits. She’s weirdly embarrassed, even though she knows that Keith has shown every sign of being a good person to talk to about this.  “I just _hurt_ a lot, and cry the whole time. Usually, I don’t sleep the entire time because it aches so much. It’s just crying and hyperventilating.”

 

She tilts her head to watch his reaction, and he’s already looking down at her. He looks sympathetic but not condescending, and it’s so incredibly ridiculous how much that simple facial expression makes her want to kiss him. “Do you think it’s easier this time because I’m here?” he asks, and there’s some positive emotion in his tone that Pidge can’t quite identify, but she wants to hear more of it.

 

“Yeah, probably,” she confirms. “It didn’t suck as bad as usual before you got here, but I think that’s just ‘cause it was just starting. Probably would have gotten bad fast.”

 

He hums, considering, and then says, “you know, if you want… you never have to spend one by yourself ever again. I’ll be here.”

 

And, if Pidge really, _really_ thinks about it, there’s some sort of offer underneath the surface one. There’s an offer of courting and a _relationship_ and lots, lots, _lots_ of sex. (Okay, that last one had probably not been what he intended to say, but that’s definitely what her heat-addled brain is focusing on at the moment.)

 

God, it’s the best sentence that anybody has ever said to her.

 

She opens her mouth to reply, anything from _hell yeah_ to _wow, you’re a secret romantic, huh,_ but all that comes out is a quiet, happy trill, answering the offer as good as any words could have. Keith laughs, but he sounds so relieved that she can’t feel too embarrassed about it. “I appreciate it,” she says after a moment, and her eyes are getting harder and harder to keep open. “Thanks.”

 

Keith doesn’t really reply for a moment, until he squints down at her, as if to judge her current state. “You falling asleep?”

 

“I’m sleepy,” she replies, which is a little redundant but definitely a solid answer, so she’ll take it.

 

“Okay,” he says, “but you should eat some of the food I brought back before you sleep.”

 

She smiles what would probably be a smirk if she’d had any more energy. “Why would I eat any of the food over there when I’ve got a snack right here?” She tickles his side for emphasis, and he laughs loud and deep, but he doesn’t squirm away. Ugh, of course perfect Keith isn’t ticklish. Figures. “Ooh, is that those Olkari berries over there? Give, please!”

 

For an Alpha, Keith sure is good at letting her order him around. Maybe it’s the fact that she usually doesn’t, or the fact that all of her orders are twinged with humor, but he never complains.

 

(She likes that about him, but God, she would _also_ like him giving her orders, like _bend over_ or _touch yourself-_ )

 

She reaches for the berries once he opens the bag, but he gently pushes it away from her and fishes one out on his own. “Let me,” he says. “Open your mouth.”

 

Okay, yeah, Pidge _definitely_ likes when he tells her what to do. She’s not sure if that’s a heat thing or an everyday thing, but it makes her squish her thighs together. Her mouth drops open without a second thought, and he places the berry on her tongue. His finger brushes against her lip and she can taste the salt that lingers afterwards, which should ring as pretty gross but doesn’t at all. At least it doesn’t taste like her own slick, and she internally thanks Keith for washing his hands while he was out.

 

“Um,” she says, once she’s finished swallowing, “that was, weirdly, really hot.” The second time, she opens her mouth without being told. His face softens at the sight of her, and, ugh, she wishes that she could just _kiss_ him, but that is definitely among the list of things that needs to wait for the post-heat feelings talk.

 

There’s something intimate about the whole thing, in a way that borders the romantic line much more than the sexual one. Something about Keith - an Alpha, the one she very much wants to be _her_ Alpha - feeding her, taking care of her… It’s pleasant and good and she could probably spend the rest of forever with him popping berries into her mouth. When there are no more left, Pidge brings her thumb to her lower lip to wipe off some excess berry juice, sucking the rest off. She pretends that she can’t feel Keith’s eyes on her mouth, and he pretends that he’s not looking.

 

“Cuddles?” she asks after a beat, offering him a lopsided grin.

 

“Yeah,” he agrees, finally looking away from her lips in favor to make eye contact. “I’m gonna - can I move you around?”

 

The thought of him manhandling her sends tingles down her back, and his sharp inhale shows that he can probably smell the effects of said thoughts. Oops. “Please,” Pidge says, raising her arms so that they’ll be out of the way.

 

He puts his hands around her sides and pulls her close to him, laying them both down so that they’re spooning. His hand ends up resting on her stomach, and in an attempt to chase his body warmth, she wiggles her butt back into him. It doesn’t even occur to her what the consequences of that could be until he groans, low and rough. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he informs her, and that musky scent is back with a vengeance.

 

 _Oh my fuck,_ Pidge realizes, way too late, _he’s totally turned on, isn’t he?_

 

“Sorry,” she whispers, her hand groping to find his own, intertwining their fingers. “Just wanna smell like you, is all.”

 

The next groan is more of a _growl_ than anything, and she can feel him reposition himself so that their heads are closer together, separating their crotches. That’s probably for the best, especially considering how strung out he sounds when he says, “you’re not helping.”

 

Though not really a surprise, the confirmation that she’s _doing_ things to him is comforting and invigorating all at once. She tries to take it as what it is, a solace, because spending too long thinking about the possibilities could have some inconvenient effects. _Don’t think about how he could easily lean forward and kiss your neck; don’t think about how his hand is dangerously close to the waistband of your boxers. Oh, shit. Shit._

 

It takes forever to clear her mind, but once she does, sleep finally comes.

 

Waking up is not as pretty a process. It’s not slow and gentle like earlier, no, it’s sudden and accompanied with a fiery pain. Her abdomen feels as though her organs are being simultaneously squeezed and pulled apart, and oh, God, why does she have to be one of those Omegas that gets such bad cramps? Her face itches with tears, but she can’t even find the energy to wipe them away.

 

How had this come back so suddenly? She had thought that it was Keith’s presence that made her more coherent, but he’s right next to her and she _still_ feels like this. Part of her is glad that he’s asleep, unable to see her like this, but the larger part of her wants him to _help_ her. She whines, shrill and choked off by a sob, because it _hurts_ so, so fucking bad-

 

She’s so out of it that she doesn’t realize that Keith’s awake until he rearranges them, her on her back with her head in his lap. He’s whispering soothing sweet nothings, but she can barely hear them over her own cries. The pain is stabbing, _blistering,_ and she just wants it to be over. There’s one hand petting her head in slow, gentle strokes, and another rubbing circles into her stomach. The gestures are appreciated, and she definitely doesn’t want him to stop, but it’s doing little to quell the pain.

 

“You’re okay,” Keith says, and there’s some thinly-veiled stress underneath his soothing tone. “I’m here, I’m here.” He momentarily stops petting her hair in favor of wiping away her tears, and she presses into the contact. His hand lingers there, cupping her cheek, and she revels in the feeling.

 

It could be five minutes or fifty, but after a while, her loud sobs fade into quick, panicked breaths - short enough that no matter how many she takes, no air really makes its way into her lungs. She’s suffocating on her own pain and it _sucks._ Half-deliriously, she wonders how much her distress is killing Keith’s nose, and then feels stupid for worrying about it.

 

“There you go,” he murmurs, his thumb running back and forth over her skin. “You’re doing great.” The praise makes Pidge whimper, and then she realizes that she’s able to _breathe_ enough to whimper. She screws her eyes shut and focuses on her breathing, trying to calm down before she looks back up at him.

 

“Holy _fuck,_ ” she groans, her right hand coming up to touch his hand on her stomach. “I thought I was in the clear.”

 

“Me too,” he agrees. “You sounded like you were being _murdered._ Is that what it’s always like?”

 

Pidge hums an affirmative. She’s not sure why, but her heats have always been the worst out of every other Omega that she knows. Her doctors growing up always said that it was nothing to be concerned about, so she’d gone on suppressants to avoid the pain. She’d almost forgotten how bad they can get.

 

At the very least, the worst of it had faded in less than an hour, as opposed to going on for three days straight. “D’you have the time?” she whispers. The two of them have been sleeping so much that she has no way of knowing. It could be barely three hours since this has all started, or it could already be day two.

 

Keith reaches over to grab something off of the nightside table, but she’s too lazy to look. “Three in the morning,” he tells her. “Nineteen hours in. How long do yours usually last?”

 

“Three days,” she answers. “Some of ‘em were shorter, though. This one’ll probably be… I dunno. Not three.”

 

A traitorous part of her brain whispers that if he knotted her, it could be over much, much sooner. What would it be like? He’s already been so sweet and considerate, regardless of his limited experience with heats. He’d be even gentler if he took her, she’s sure, though she wonders if she could convince him to go _hard._ He doesn’t seem like he’d be very talkative, but she’s positive that the sounds that he would make would be more than enough to satisfy her. Oh, and if he wanted to, she’d definitely let him matebite her. Feeling his teeth on her skin would be more than enough, but the added promise that he _wanted_ her -

 

Keith chokes. “God, Katie.” She blinks at him, confused, before realizing that having thoughts like that has effects. She wonders what she smells like when she’s like this, since she can’t distinguish anything but his own scent at the moment. “It really - it really settles in fast, huh?”

 

Pidge opens her mouth to say _yeah, sorry,_ but what comes out instead is, “I wish you could fuck me,” high and whiny. Keith tilts his head to look at the ceiling, as if continuing to look at her will break his resolve. She can taste that musky scent in the air, and it has such a larger effect on her now that she realizes that it’s him being turned the fuck on. “You’re totally picturing it too, aren’t you?” It’s supposed to come out snarky, but instead, it’s needy in a way that she’s never really heard her own voice before. She’ll definitely have to figure out some form of birth control so that next time, this will at least be on the _table._ “Me on your knot, _mm,_ begging for it.”

 

“ _Pidge,”_ he says, and it’s more of a moan than anything else. The sound makes her buck into the air, even though it does nothing to ease the pressure and everything to make Keith’s voice tighter. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

 

Pidge, well, heh, she’ll take that as a yes.

 

“I know that we can’t,” she says, voice soft, “but I want to. A lot. It _aches,_ how much I want to.”

 

(It’s not like this is anything new. Once, she’d bumped into Keith when he’d been wearing nothing but a low towel on his way from the showers, and she’d been hit with so much _wantwantwant_ at once that he’d stumbled on his way past her. They both know how the other feels, they’ve just both been too stupid to _do_ anything about it.)

 

“It’s up to you,” he says, and wow, okay, he’s considering it. “If it would help…”

 

Maybe it’s the fact that she’s not thinking straight, or maybe it’s the fact that she knows, deep down, how he feels, because she doesn’t even think before saying, “I like you too much.” There it is, their horribly-kept secret out in the open. “I like you so much that I can’t _think,_ and I don’t know if we’d ever get together, okay, I don’t. But if we do, I don’t want the first time we have sex to be when I can’t even think clearly. And, and - even if we _don’t,_ I don’t want the _only_ time we fuck to be heat sex. So, even if I break and ask you to, _don’t,_ because I’ll be pissed at myself later.”

 

Keith finally, _finally_ looks back down at her, and he looks as though her words haven’t truly sunk in yet. He just _stares_ at her for a few seconds, and it’s actually pretty anxiety-inducing. After a bit, though, he says, “I like you, too. You know that I do, right? I’m sorry that we didn’t talk about it before.”

 

“It’s okay,” Pidge says, and smiles something that’s probably closer to a grimace. It really _is_ okay, because at least they’re talking about it now. “We can talk after this, once I’m rational. ‘Cause I _feel_ rational, but I know that soon I’ll…” _Go back to being even more of a crying, horny mess than I am right now._

 

Holy shit, she trusts him so much. She trusts him so much that she’d broken her rule about being alone during heats. She trusts him so much that she had let him _finger_ her, and she’d been pretty logical then. That hadn’t even been in one of her strong heat waves.

 

“Hey,” she blurts. “You totally fingered me.”

 

Keith grins, wide and genuine. “I don’t think that I could ever forget,” he tells her, and he has absolutely _no_ business sounding that honest.

 

“I’m just sayin’,” Pidge says. “That’s the one thing you’ve done already, so you could do it again. Everything else should wait a few days.”

 

He shrugs, as if this all seems perfectly fine to him. “I didn’t know you cared so much about social norms,” he teases.

 

“I don’t,” she replies, and hopes that he doesn’t notice the blush on her cheeks. He definitely does, because she can see him raise an eyebrow at her. “I just wanna make sure this is all real, ‘s all.”

 

Keith’s amused face softens into something kinder, warmer. “I’ll kiss you as soon as you want me to,” he promises. “This is real.” For a moment, the two of them just stay there, her head still in his lap, but then he asks, “do you want me to finger you? Right now?”

 

It takes a second for her brain to connect the dots, but when she does, she nods jerkily. “Yes, yes, yes,” she says. “ _Please.”_

 

Her begging must come as a surprise, because his movements are shaky when he moves out from under her head. He clambors over her so that his left hand is positioned next to her head, holding him up so that he hovers over her. “Can you take off your shorts?”

 

Pidge moves to do so, but then freezes. “Maybe,” she says, voice barely audible to even her own ears, “maybe you should tell me, not ask.”

 

His responding growl is so close to her ear that it jarrs her, but she’s too turned on to care. His right hand finds the waistband of her boxers and he tugs the fabric close to him before snapping it back into place, the contact making her jerk up in surprise. “Take these off.”

 

She flushes at the demand, scrambling to do so. Taking them off is more of a gain than a loss, considering that they’ve been soaked through for long enough to be uncomfortable. The slick on her inner thighs is cool against the air of the room, in a way that’s refreshing against the consistent overheating that she’s being exposed to.

 

“Figures that you’d be cute all over,” Keith says, reaching down to delicately run a finger from her entrance to her clit. She whines, watching as he pulls away his finger and it comes back shining wet. To her equal horror and arousal, he pops it into his mouth. “You taste cute, too.”

 

“ _Keith,_ ” she begs. Something inside of her snaps, like a new heat wave flooding in. Rational thought flies out of her brain and goes somewhere on the floor with her boxer shorts. “Fuck, knot me, _please,_ oh, God-”

 

His eyes widen for just a second, but with just a blink, his facial expression is replaced with blunt determination. “Don’t worry, I gotcha,” he tells her, close enough to her that she can feel his breath on her face. “Spread those pretty legs for me, baby girl.”

 

Her slick makes an audible sound when she does so, and she just can’t help it when she lifts her hips into the air in an attempt to make more contact. Keith’s fingers find her again, and this time, he starts off with two. He doesn’t start slow, doesn’t stretch her out - he starts hard, fingers slightly curved and touching some spot inside of her that feels like static.

 

“ _Oh, oh_ \- fuck - _Keith,_ fuck me - ”

 

As a result, he fingerfucks her harder, so deep that she sees stars. She’s already so close just from all of the build-up, so it only takes one, two, three tight circles around her clit for her to come, whining and pleading and crying. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down, just keeps drilling her. “Take it,” he snarls, voice hot and dark. There’s no hesitation when he adds a third finger, no second required to readjust. It’s as simple as there being two on one thrust out, and three on the next thrust in. “You take my knot so good; you’re such a good Omega.”

 

(Later, Pidge will realize that she was oh, so wrong about him not being talkative in bed.)

 

Even though she knows on a surface level that it’s not his dick that’s rutting into her, the words successfully sate the part of her that craves to be fucked open. His pace on her clit is relentless, and she thrusts into nothing with every stroke. Aftershock after aftershock is wrung out of her, until they’re not even aftershocks anymore and instead, the beginning of her next orgasm. Most of the words that leave her mouth don’t even register with her, but she catches hints of _breed me_ and _Alpha._ It doesn’t even sound like stuff that’s usually in her vocabulary, but there’s no fucking way that she’s even gonna think twice about that right now.

 

Keith’s teeth find her ear, biting just gentle enough not to draw blood. The feeling of it makes her sob, not from the pain but from how overwhelmingly _good_ all of these sensations are. She wishes that she would bite her scent gland, instead, wishes that he would sink his sharp teeth into it. She could probably come again just from that.

 

The second time, she doesn’t know that she’s about to until she already is. She bucks back into his hand even though her hips are starting to ache, and she rides it out like that, grinding against the heel of his hand. “That’s it, come on my cock,” he mutters, before licking a stripe down her jawbone. This one lasts much longer than the last, and she feels sensitive and raw inside and out. There’s drool on her chin and her lips feel spitty when she wails, but she doesn’t even bother wiping it away. Not when Keith is still _railing_ her like this.

 

The sound of his slick-covered fingers thrusting in and out of her is downright pornographic, but even then, she’d much rather hear the dirty words that come out of Keith’s mouth. “Yeah, you like that, huh? You like when I take you like this? I bet you do. It’s like you were made for it, made for me.”

 

He tapers off for a moment after that, as if he’s focusing on his actions. It takes a bit too long for her to realize that his silence is in sync with how close she’s getting. Pidge feels, for the third time in just a handful of minutes, that heat in her stomach that twists and turns and builds up to an incredible intensity. She feels the exact point where Keith’s thumb touches her clit, where his fingers graze that spot deep in her cunt. She feels the movement of her mouth opening and closing even though she can’t even hear what she’s saying. She’s falling, falling -

 

Keith leans in and scratches his teeth along her cheek, not hard enough to hurt but not gentle by any means. “ _Come,_ ” he demands, and just like that, she does, so hard that her vision whites out. She rides it out for a few seconds, but it becomes quickly apparent that she’s sensitive to the point of pain. (Or maybe she has been for the past two orgasms, but it’s only now that she can actually feel anything that’s not _KeithhotwetKeithgood._ ) Pidge reaches out and gently pats his arm that’s holding him up, hoping that he’ll rightfully interpret it as a _tap out_ gesture. He does, immediately slowing down, taking just a second to linger before pulling out entirely.

 

“Thank God, my hand was starting to cramp,” he says, voice ridiculously light compared to the last few sentences that he’s said. He shifts his hands so that his slick-sticky one is holding him up, while his clean one goes to cradle the side of her face. “I lost you for a bit, there. You doing okay?”

 

“I’m okay,” Pidge says, cracking halfway through. She must have lost her voice somewhere in between all of the begging and crying. Still completely dazed, she reaches up to grab onto the hem of his shirt and tugs him down so that he’s laying on top of her. “Thanks for bringing me back.”

 

“Anytime,” he whispers, and she can feel his nose against her scent glands, inhaling. The gesture is as calming for her as she assumes that it is for him, and she hums, revelling in the quiet.

 

Until -

 

“Oh my God, wait, do you need a hand?” she blurts, horrified at the fact that she hasn’t suggested anything yet. “I’ve come, like, _five_ times, and I haven’t even touched you!”

 

Keith, despite the fact that he’d just talked to her like a pornstar, immediately starts stammering. She can’t see his face from where it’s pressed into her neck, but she bets that it’s red. “I, uh… you don’t have to. You’re the one who needed it.”

 

Pidge’s hand slides up the back of his shirt, running against the skin there. Keith inhales, sharp, leaving her to wonder how that small gesture seems to have such a big effect on him. “I want to,” she says, quiet, and presses a tentative kiss to the side of his head that she can reach.

 

“Okay, yeah,” he agrees, and she feels a rush of something warm at the fact that he’s not very hard to convince. “How do you want me?”

 

She grins despite knowing the he can’t see it and rolls them over so that he’s the one on his back. She pushes herself to a sitting position, kneeling so that her knees press against his hips and her butt sits on his lower thighs. “Can you lift up your butt a little?” she asks. He smirks when he does it, lifting his hips into the air so that she can pull down his sweatpants further.

 

The first thing that she realizes is that he’s not wearing boxers. The second thing she realizes is that he’s achingly hard. Granted, she probably should have figured out that first part already, but she’d been a little bit preoccupied.

 

Pidge debates spitting into her hand, but quickly realizes that he’s leaking enough that it would just be unnecessary. Pride simmers low in her gut, pleased at the effect that she’s had on him. When she wraps her hand around him, he immediately grunts, legs shifting beneath her.

 

She watches his facial expressions more than she watches her hand. His eyes are shut and his mouth is half open, his tongue visibly pressing against his front teeth. His hands grasp at the sheets below him, twisting and tugging, and if she were a lesser woman, she would edge him just so she could see him _yearn_ like this for longer.

 

But he’s been the biggest help that she could ask for, so she won’t be rude. Instead, Pidge quickens her pace, falling in love with the small pants that come out of his mouth. He’s quiet when he comes, just jerking his hips twice in quick, ragged movements, lips gasping for air as he spills into her hand. She works him through it, not stopping until he tells her that he’s okay. She tucks him back into his sweatpants and then, for a moment, she just looks at him, watching him bask in his own afterglow. _He’s so cute,_ she thinks in a rush of affection.

 

“I wish I could shower,” Pidge complains after a silence that stretches on a bit too long. “That’s probably not a good idea, though.” It’s definitely not - leaving her pheromones all over the bathroom would just be a hassle for the others, or, even worse, there’s the high probability that she’ll fall asleep in the shower and someone would find her there.

 

Keith makes a soft noise of consideration. “Probably not,” he agrees. “Soon, though.”

 

“Soon,” she repeats. She wonders if it will be longer or shorter than another day, and how much of it will be spent lucid. Will she fall asleep now and wake up with all of this over? Or will it take him fingerfucking her one or two more times before the worst of it is finished?

 

It’ll be okay either way, as long as she has Keith. Keith, who never makes her feel uncomfortable. Keith, who had responded to her heat by fulfilling all of her requests and not by bending her over. Keith, who she’d _definitely_ fantasized about matebiting her at least once today. She’s starting to realize that it’s less of a heat-induced craving and more of a sincere _desire._ Having him be hers, and being his in return. It sounds like a type of perfect that Pidge has never really comprehended having.

 

She’s totally going to be the easiest Omega to ever court, but she can’t even feel ashamed of that, because she’s too caught up in the idea of him _courting_ her. Wanting her.

 

Keith huffs a laugh. “Someone’s happy over there,” he teases, and she just stares as he pushes himself up and gropes around her bedside table for something to wipe them both down with. He finds a hand towel and immediately starts cleaning off his hands. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

 

“You,” she confesses. “How much I like you.”

 

Keith looks at her as if she’s the only person that he’s ever seen, as if she’s the sun and the moon and the ocean all at once. As if she’s something he cannot quite comprehend but would love to spend the rest of his life figuring out. It’s a look that she would do _anything_ to get onto his face again. She misses it before it even goes away.

 

“You,” she starts, and then stops. “Did you mean that? About me not having to spend these alone anymore?”

 

Keith wipes off his abdomen in slow, methodical movements, and gestures with his hand that he wants her to lift her butt up. She does, and he cleans the slick off of her inner thighs, gently enough that the towel doesn’t scratch. “Of course I did,” he says. “You don’t need to let me, but the offer’s always open.”

 

“I’ll let you,” she tells him, soft. “You’re all I want.”

 

He tosses the hand towel onto the other end of the room and reaches for her sides, pulling her close as he lays back down. She lays on his chest, the sweat that sticks to his shirt making her feel itchy. It still feels perfect, but maybe that’s because of the way he’s brushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes.

 

“You, too,” he responds, saying it as if it’s been on the tip of his tongue for months. Maybe it has. “Get some sleep, angel.”

 

And, well, she’s always been pretty good at doing what he tells her to.

**Author's Note:**

> no concrit, please! i'm just doin this for the hell of it so i'd rather not have any criticism


End file.
